Pairing: Paige Bueckers x mom!teammate!Reader
Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings
Summary: Three-year-old Eliza accidentally exposes your relationship with Paige
🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @let-zizi-yap , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav
Before Eliza. Before the Wings. Before our lives bled into press conferences and highlight reels, it was just me and Paige.
Teammates. Best friends. Roommates.
And, secretly, something more.
We didn’t call it anything then. We were still sorting through the mess—my breakup, her uncertainty, the heavy weight of my world as a young mom and her world as the face of UConn basketball.
Late-night study sessions that turned into me curled into her chest on the futon. Whispers in the dark.
People talked. Of course they did.
“Y’all got that best friend chemistry,” fans would say with side-eyes.
“Paige don’t even look at the rest of y’all like that,” Azzi teased once.
Even Coach had given us the look.
But we never confirmed anything.
Not when Paige kissed my forehead during Senior Day.
Not when fans spotted her helping me carry Eliza’s stroller out of Gampel Pavilion.
Not when she showed up every time Eliza had a daycare performance, even during away stretches.
And definitely not the night I called her crying.
One Year Before the Drafts, well mine, Aaliyah and Nika’s.
“Paige,” I sobbed, my voice shaking over the phone. “I need you. I need you now.”
She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t wait for the details.
She showed up outside my apartment at 2:14 a.m. in a hoodie, slides, and a fire in her eyes I had never seen before.
“Eliza’s asleep in the room,” I whispered when I opened the door. “He—he didn’t hit me. But he… he got close.”
Paige pushed past me. Scanned the living room. Saw the overturned lamp, the shattered glass, my shaking hands.
“We’re leaving,” she said. “Right now.”
She packed my stuff in silence. Cradled Eliza so carefully you’d think she was made of glass. Took me to her place. Tucked us both in her bed. Held me all night.
She never made me say it. Never made me explain.
But that night? That was the beginning.
Present Day: May 27th – Dallas vs Connecticut (Away)
Fast-forward to now, and life looks a whole lot different.
I’m a rookie on the Dallas Wings. Eliza is almost four, and insists on wearing her “Game Day Glitter Bows” no matter where we are. And Paige?
Well, Paige Bueckers is still Paige Bueckers—but she’s also mine.
Quietly. Carefully. Comfortably.
She’s still got the same handle, the same clutch gene, the same habit of chewing on her jersey when the game gets tight.
But now she’s got Eliza on her hip during walkthroughs. She’s got juice boxes in her locker. She’s got a daughter who—though she didn’t birth—adores her with her whole tiny heart.
And tonight? The whole world’s about to see that.
We’d just pulled off a tough win against Connecticut.
And both Paige and I were tapped for media post-game.
Eliza, high on fruit snacks and sleepy from the late start, was attached to my hip as I walked into the press room.
“Y/N,” the media rep whispered. “She coming too?”
I gave a look that said, when is she not?
“She’ll be good,” I promised.
Eliza spent the first six minutes of the conference crawling between me and Paige.
One second she was in my lap, head resting on my chest.
Then she’d hear Paige’s voice and reach out like she was being pulled by gravity.
“She’s got two favorites,” I joked into the mic.
“And neither of them are Arike,” Paige added, grinning.
Eventually, she landed on Paige’s lap and stayed.
Head tucked under Paige’s chin.
Fingers clutching the sleeve of Paige’s jersey.
And that’s where she stayed.
Right until the very last question.
I barely made it through the gym doors next practice before DiJonai was in my ear.
“Lookin’ like a lil’ happy family in that press room,” she sang.
“She had her thumb in her mouth, Paige rubbing her back—y’all were one white picket fence away from a Hallmark movie.”
“Please,” I groaned. “Let me live.”
Someone made a TikTok slideshow with the caption: “When Mommy and Mama hoop professionally 😭💍” and it had 1.2 million views.
“Could’ve been worse,” Paige whispered during stretches, leaning down beside me. “She could’ve called me mommy.”
I snorted. “One day. Just you wait.”
She winked. “I’ll be ready.”
June 17th – Home Game vs Golden State Valkyries
The moment Paige faced grimaced first quarter, I knew she’d been hurt and I was right once she walked over to me during the time out. Deep gash on her forearm—nothing serious, but enough to warrant tape and attention from the trainers.
She didn’t even flinch. Of course she didn’t.
Paige was all poise and sharp edges when the whistle blew.
But off the court? She was a puddle where Eliza was concerned.
So after we won—and media duty hit again—I didn’t even bother asking if Paige would come to the presser.
Eliza curled into my side as we sat down.
Paige leaned over, ruffled her curls gently. “You sleepy, baby girl?”
She didn’t even move until a reporter asked, “So—Paige, Y/N—how does it feel seeing so many fans ship you two together? Especially since that Connecticut game almost a month ago. There’s even talk about edits, baby names, the whole fantasy family vibe…”
To come up with a scapegoat, til.
“Mommy,” Eliza said softly.
Paige and I both looked at her.
But Eliza was looking at Paige.
“Mommy hurt,” she whispered, pointing at Paige’s wrapped forearm.
“Oh,” she said, smiling softly. “Yeah, baby girl. I got a scratch. But I’m all better now, okay?”
Eliza frowned. “Mama and I kiss it better for yous, Mommy.”
She leaned forward and pressed a sleepy kiss to Paige’s bandage, right over the gauze.
“You don’t have to,” she whispered to me, voice low, warm.
But Eliza turned to me, her eyes already drifting closed. “Mama kiss it better. Mama kiss make things better.”
I leaned forward and kissed Paige’s arm—soft, lingering.
Paige flexed it playfully, grinning. “See? All better now.”
The reporter, flustered, coughed. “W-Well. I guess that answers that question.”
Paige chuckled. “Yep. I’d say so.”
Eliza, of course, had fallen asleep again in Paige’s arms.
The internet lost its mind.
“Mommy Paige” trended. So did “Kiss It Better” and “WNBA Family Goals.”
Clips of me and Paige at UConn resurfaced.
Paige holding baby Eliza after one of our games.
Me wiping sweat off Paige’s forehead on the bench.
Us sharing the same water bottle while sitting on the bench during an intense game.
Paige whispering something in my ear after I dropped 20 on senior night.
Speculation turned into timelines.
People tried to figure out when we started dating.
When Paige became Eliza’s second parent in all but name.
The people who mattered already saw the way Paige reached for me in quiet moments.
How Eliza lit up when Paige walked into a room.
How I looked at Paige like she hung constellations every night just for me.
“Think we’re gonna have to say something soon?” I asked Paige as we curled up on the couch that night, Eliza snoring softly between us.
“Nah,” she murmured, kissing my temple. “Let ‘em wonder.”
Because Paige wasn’t just part of my story.
Whether the world knew or not.
-Thank You For Reading!💚💙
